


Ghosts, Ghouls, And Golden Rules

by TheCrimsonJaguar



Category: Adventure Time
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Zombies, Apocalypse, Chains, Don't ship Simon and Marcy for the love of god, Friendship, Gen, Minor Violence, NGL this came out waayyy darker than originally planned, Starvation, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombies, as in they're eldritch corpses, attempted horror, non-traditional zombies, or ghouls, trapped in a pit, whatever you like to call them :)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:02:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23136610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCrimsonJaguar/pseuds/TheCrimsonJaguar
Summary: Simon Petrikov, husband to Betty Petrikov and an esteemed historian, wakes up chained in a pit during the zombie apocalypse.It gets worse from there.
Relationships: Ice King | Simon Petrikov & Marceline
Comments: 20
Kudos: 45





	1. Waking Up

**Author's Note:**

> Posted this on both a whim and a desperate need to have more AT content  
> enjoy :)

On the first day, Simon fought. His hands were in shackles, _gold_ shackles, and there was a chain that connected the shackles to a spike in the cement floor of the hole. He tugged on the metal spike, on the chains, on the shackles. He cried for help into the canopy above, a parting in the trees allowing sunlight to stream through. 

He fought his bonds until he was wracked with sweat, until he ached to his very bones, and then he fought some more. The gold of the metal glinted mockingly at him. 

He didn't have shoes, and his leg hurt something fierce, but he had his mind and he had his anger. Whoever put him down here was going to be in a world of trouble once he escaped.

* * *

The second day, he woke up blearily, sore. He had fought until he passed out, and once awake he struggled again. His throat was dry, and his stomach growled, and his back ached worse than his leg, and he screamed until he was hoarse. Why was he here? Who put him here? When he first woke up the day prior, he thought it might be some sick joke. But it wasn't- it was real, and Simon could only hope he'd either get the chains off or someone would find him.

* * *

On the third day, reality had really set in and Simon began to rest. Fighting wasn't helping, only hurting him, he needed to think. He couldn't get the spike out, the chains off, the shackles unlocked, he couldn't call for help, his voice too far away from civilization and phone mysteriously missing. 

If he could get out of the cuffs, he was certain he could climb out of the hole, despite his leg. He wondered what Betty was thinking. She must be worried. It was unlike him to simply vanish without telling them, she must be looking. It had been three days, people must be coming soon.

* * *

He told himself that for another four days until he began to suspect he would die there.

* * *

It rained, sometimes. He let it fall into his parched throat, and he supposed that was the only reason he hadn't died of thirst. On the eighth day, a loaf of soggy white bread was chucked into the hole. 

He heard footsteps, the crunching of Autumn leaves, and a loaf of bread was unceremoniously dropped into the pit, and directly into a puddle. It splashed muddy water on him and got the bread filthy, and Simon shouted after the figure, demanding to be set free, for answers, for anything. He got nothing. Nothing but a loaf of soggy bread.

* * *

He ate the bread. It was only really bad on the bottom, so he tore that off and chucked it back into the puddle. He ate the rest of it fervently, he couldn't stop himself. He was so hungry, the hunger pains like knives in his stomach. It reminded him of his favorite type of bread, the kind he'd always get at the store that was white and fluffy and just a touch sweet. 

The hunger didn't bother him too much until a day later, and Simon wondered if he would starve or die of thirst first. Maybe whoever had him trapped would simply begin filling the pit with dirt, their cruel game over. 

He didn't get an answer.

* * *

He got a loaf of bread every week or so. It would be thrown into the pit by a mysterious person, and if Simon was lucky the ground would be dry and he could wipe off the dust easily and eat the whole thing. If he wasn't, he tore off the truly inedible parts and salvaged what he could. 

He learned to manage his meals better. Saving the bread instead of eating it all at once, it let him stave off hunger on days much worse than his current ones. He felt gross. 

* * *

He was thinning. Skin wrapped tightly around a skeleton, like a corpse. He couldn't move very much, his muscles protesting. He was certain his right leg had been broken, but he didn't quite know how, and he didn't know when. He didn't look at it. He had seen enough of it from the huge, purpling bruise that snuck under his pant leg, looking almost black.

His hair grew long and his face needed a good shave. 

It had been about four weeks since he woke in the pit. 

He was going to die there, and his captor wanted him to die slowly. That's why he was being fed, they wanted him alive.

The spike was sharp, and he considered killing himself to spite whoever was keeping him chained up and alive. He didn't feel alive. 

He sometimes felt like there was still hope. People must be looking. They must be! And even if he couldn't be found, then someone could get revenge for him.

He knew they would.

Betty would, at the very least.

* * *

The next time he woke up, he didn't know what day it was. It was somewhere in the fifth week. That wasn't the problem. For whatever reason, he woke up angry.

Simon woke up  _ raging _ . 

He fought his bonds again, like he did on the first day, fueled no longer by fear and a will to live, but fury. His feet scraped against rough cement and sticks and puddles, his whole being ached, he couldn't even feel his leg anymore, and he fought like a man with nothing to lose.

He wasn't being saved. He was going to die down there, alone, confused.

But he wasn't, he decided. He might not have a choice on whether or not he died, but he was going to go out screaming.

He tugged on his chain with his whole weight (not much) over and over again. It rattled mockingly at him, refusing to budge.

It was being stubborn. But that was okay, Simon knew how to be stubborn too.

* * *

The sixth week mark passed, and Simon did not get bread. That was okay, he still had some left from last time. He continued to claw at his chains. He couldn't see them, but he could feel the hairline fractures forming around the spike.

He hadn't slept in four days, and he felt like he was going mad.

* * *

The spike broke. 

_ The spike broke. _

He stared at it, where it lay up-heaved from the cement, the golden loop holding his chain to the ground free. He felt himself stand for the first time in what must be more than a month, and he felt like he had truly gone mad.

This was it- he'd gone insane. He was alive, and the spike wasn't keeping him down, and Simon found himself clawing at the dirt wall of the hole with a desperation he didn't know he possessed. Everything hurt, his leg refused to cooperate, but he clawed himself out of his grave and took a look around.

It was the middle of a forest. There was a rusty metal box a few feet away from the hole, and it had many pre-wrapped loaves of bread. 

He tore into them, the plastic being shredded and forgotten and the loaf devoured. 

He was panicking. What if his captor came back? He couldn't fight them, not like this, not like  _ this _ . Barefoot, limping, sore, starved, absolutely frantic. 

He picked up a loaf for the road, and picked a direction. 

And Simon ran. And the chains didn't weigh him down.

* * *

He ran until the adrenaline wore off and then he walked. He limped, really, and he kept swiveling his head to any sound he heard. 

He swore he was being followed. He went in zig-zags to throw them off, and kept going. 

He reached a road a few hours later, when the sun was setting. 

He saw no cars, but he saw car marks, tire treads that had been glued into the mud from the sun. 

He went left and stayed close to the brush, certain he was prey being stalked. 

* * *

He had to carry his chains. He had to carry them because they made too much sound on their own- and holding them with the loaf of bread balanced on top was the only way to get them to be silent. 

Simon realized running at all would cause the chains to rattle, so he didn't. He lurched, silently, in the shadows, paranoid. 

* * *

Two days after following the road, his bread gone and energy fading once more, he spotted a town. Hope ignited in his chest, and he stumbled his way towards it. 

* * *

The town was abandoned. 

He could see that at a glance, but coming up closer to it was another experience entirely. There were no cars, windows were smashed in and lights were flickering. He called for help, for anyone, for a phone, but his voice was too sore and he mostly just rasped into the wind.

He walked into a convenience store to get more food and water. If there wasn't anyone there- well, that just meant he didn't have to pay.

* * *

He couldn't eat the food there. There was lots of it, in the freezers that still hummed and on the shelves and in the cans on the shelves. 

But he couldn't  _ eat  _ it- he knew this on some deep primal level.

It wasn't  _ his  _ food to  _ eat _ , to  _ have _ . 

He picked up a can of peaches and it mocked him. All he'd have to do was pull the tab, and then there, he'd have it. Food.

He did not. 

He  _ couldn't  _ and it frustrated him. 

* * *

The town had not been abandoned for very long, Simon decided. Maybe a week at most. It must have been abandoned for a reason, Simon thought, they wouldn't just up and drop everything for nothing. But looking around- he couldn't see why. It was almost like some invisible wave had swept through, washing all the humans away and only leaving their sand castle behind. 

All except one.

He heard it walking through a street, looking for anything of use, it was crying. It was a child crying. 

More panic than he had ever felt before rushed through him. He hadn't felt this panicked when he escaped, when he was being followed, when he was trapped. This was something real, a child was here alone by the looks of it, and they were crying out for help.

Simon let his chains hang and he ran.

* * *

It was a little girl. She had a mop of black hair and big eyes and pointy ears and ashen skin, and Simon had many questions but he knew he would die for this child. 

She had looked up at the sound of the chains rattling. She was crouched on the cement, head in hands, sobbing her eyes out for her mom. She looked up at him, when he approached her, looked at him with hollow cheeks and sunken eyes and tangled hair and the golden chains that wrapped his wrists and held her arms out to be held, still crying.

Simon picked her up as best as he could, trying not to get the chains too near her, and held her tight, and whispered sweet nothings to her while she cried.

She held tight, and Simon didn't feel as rotten as before.

"Shh, shh. It's alright- just cry it out." He told her, and she did, and she was loud and he was not, his voice was a whisper and it cracked and popped like it didn't want to be heard. The feeling of being followed dissipated completely, and Simon knew they were alone.

* * *

She clung to the stuffed bear he got her like a security blanket. He had found it smashed in the window of a toy store nearby.

He stuck out his hand, other hand coming along by a shackle, and asked her name.

"Marceline." She said softly, "But mommy called me Marcy."

"Hello, Marceline, I'm Simon." He said quietly, and she grabbed his boney finger and shook it, "Can I ask you a few questions?"

She nodded slowly, seemingly unsure. "Only if you let me ask some too." 

"Of course, of course. But let me ask mine first, okay? You don't have to answer all of them." 

He asked her who her mom is, what happened to her, what happened to the town. She didn't know her mom's name but she was nice and wore a lot of green, she didn't know where she went but she hasn't seen the woman in several days, and something scary had walked through town and everyone left.

"Why didn't they take you with them?" Simon asked, anger bubbling up and making him louder. 

"They thought I was scary too." She said, like it was obvious. Anger flared.

"You're really not. You're too cute to be scary," Simon said back, like it was just as obvious, and she smiled brightly at him, revealing tiny pointed teeth.

Cute indeed.

* * *

She was too thin, Simon decided, and before doing anything he would be getting this kid some food. 

"I ran out of mac and cheese," She said, "Mommy showed me how to use the microwave."

"Have you had anything other than mac and cheese since your mom left?" Simon asked. 

"No," She said simply.

That didn't sit well with Simon, kids should get three square meals a day, every day. And yes he saw the irony that he was skin and bones and the kid still had chub to spare, but he couldn't eat the food here and he was certain that  _ she  _ could.

They walked into a store, the same one Simon had gone in before, and he un-tabbed the peaches and handed her the can, and she swallowed them all and then he got her more food.

They were sitting in the center of the store, wrappers and cans lay discarded around them, and Marceline was sucking the juice off her fingers from an apple. 

"This is really good," She said, "why aren't you having some?" 

"Oh, I'm not hungry." Simon lied. She looked at him suddenly, fiercely, like she didn't believe him.

"You  _ look  _ hungry." She said.

"Well, I'm really not-"

"You can have apples too," She said, ignoring him and handing him an apple. There was a bruise on the side and Simon didn't know how long it had been sitting out in the store but all of a sudden he was shoving the apple into his mouth and devouring it whole. It was as if some invisible barrier had been removed the moment she dropped it into his palm, and the sheer fact that he couldn't was replaced with the fact that he could. 

There was a second of silence where they simply looked at each other, Marceline seemingly surprised. Simon coughed.

"I guess I was hungry." He said.

* * *

Simon was piecing things together. It was a slow process, but he was beginning to understand what had happened to the world when he was trapped.

Firstly: Economic collapse,

Second: Zombie outbreak,

And third: Mass evacuation. 

It was... a mess to say the least. Apparently the monster that had gone through the town was, in fact, a zombie. And apparently these zombies were absolutely terrifying, from the many news articles Simon could salvage.

There weren't any pictures of the zombies, but they were described as 'tall, dark, toothy creatures made from the corpses of family members'. So, nothing good. He still had many questions, such as; why was he trapped in a pit for a month and a half, where was Betty, where were they in relation to anything else, where were they going to camp out for the night, how do you raise a child in the zombie apocalypse when you're chained like an animal, and so on.

Simon had the unfortunate feeling like those answers were far away and not going to reveal themselves anytime soon.

"Simon?" Marceline said to him as they walked, she had her hand in his, "Why're they gold?"

"What?"

"You're-" She poked a chain and frowned deeply, "Those."

"The chains? Oh, I don't know." Simon said. 

"Why don't you wear shoes?" She asked, and Simon looked down to his bare feet, which were filthy. He should find some shoes soon.

"I, um." 

"And why are your eyes like that?" She pointed up to his face, and he brought a shackled hand to his cheek. 

"What's wrong with my eyes?" Simon asked, genuinely curious. They were just brown, not that special, though Betty had always seemed to like them.

"They're all white and stuff," She said, "Like milk." 

He didn't know how to respond to that. Was she talking about the sclera? That was the most reasonable thing, but it was a bit odd to be asking about that, Simon thought.

He was broken out of his thoughts when he realized she was waiting for an answer. 

"I guess I'm just like that," He said, for lack of anything else to say. He wasn't about to tell a seven year old that he had been chained in a pit starving slowly for a month.

She nodded, accepting his answer, and they walked some more, trying to find any phone or computer that still functioned.

* * *

"This bed is big," Marceline declared, bouncing on the red mattress. Simon almost melted at the sight of it. It looked heavenly.

They had decided to take residence in one of the better stocked houses for the night, and it included a king sized bed in each bedroom. Simon hadn't slept on a bed in weeks, and his back screamed at him to just let it carry him away. 

"It sure is!" He said, and Marceline beamed at him.

"Are you gonna sleep here?" She asked, ceasing her bouncing.

"Unless you're going to take it, there's lots of rooms to choose from," Simon said. And there was, the kitchen was big, there were eight bedrooms, and if it weren't for the fact that the garage was caved in by a  _ tree _ , Simon would have called it perfect. 

But Simon didn't need perfect, he needed that cozy bed.

"I want my own room!" Marceline said excitedly, and Simon gave chase after the little girl as she raced through the halls.

He let himself smile, and the weight of the chains felt lighter than ever, and the pain in his leg was warm.

* * *

He was woken in the middle of the night from a sleep that felt like death, and Marceline was crying in the hallway. He held his hands out to her, and she climbed into bed and he held her until she fell asleep, and the tears were dry. He did not want to wake her, and he appreciated having a little company, so he let her stay and they both woke up at noon the next day.

* * *

He saw his reflection in the mirror. He understands now, why she asked about his eyes. They were glazed over, pure white that almost seemed to glow, and there were no pupils.

He looks like a ghost, he thinks, he might be one, he thinks.

* * *

Simon can find no more information in the town they're in. All the news articles he could find and any letters he found in the mail boxes were cut off abruptly on the third of November, which would be useful if he knew what the date was. 

There was no more information on the 'zombies' either, and that worried him much more than he thought it would. Most of the computers were dead, those that weren't had no internet, picking up any phone, landline or handheld, resulted in static. And that had been very concerning, as the one landline phone he had found turned out to have a snapped wire. 

He didn't check the phones after that. 

"Simon?" Marceline said, looking up at him. They were in the library, and she had her doll (who she dubbed 'Hambo') and several books all laid about. 

Simon looked up from the obituary of a newspaper to look at the young girl. She was very smart for only being six, maybe a bit too smart. He wondered what had happened to her that made her wise to the world. She was odd, that much Simon could admit. He hadn't seen many grey, pointy-eared, fanged children before, so he assumed she was a bit special. But she acted like any child would, maybe she was faring a bit better than most given the situation, but she seemed like a normal child. Just... grey. It wasn't like Simon could or  _ would  _ judge.

"Yes?" He said, giving her a smile. She smiled back, and then tried to regain her serious look from before. 

"Is anyone gonna come help us?" She asked. Simon sat back in his seat and considered. Theoretically, there should be helicopters and planes or even drones flying about looking for survivors or people in need- but he hadn't seen hide or hair of anything. It was like he and Marceline were the only ones on the planet, just him and a little girl against supposed zombies. 

"I don't know, Marcy." He said honestly, "I don't even know if anyone knows there could be people out here."

She seemed to wilt, but she sat back up and kept her gaze firm, "We can go find them."

"It might be dangerous to do that," Simon said, and she perked up.

"I'm strong! I have big muscles," She flexed her 'big muscles' like a bodybuilder. Simon laughed despite himself. He leaned down from his chair and scooped her up, she squirmed a bit but she eventually gave into the impromptu hug.

"I like you, Simon." She said into his shoulder.

"I like you too, Marceline." He said to her, and he meant it. 

"We're not going, are we?" She asked.

"No, Marcy. Not yet." He said, and then pulled her away. She looked sad, "I'm sorry, sweetie, but it's not safe." 

She nodded, and then scrubbed her eyes.

He brought her back to his chest and held her close, and she rested her chin on his shoulder and they sat for a while.

"I miss my mommy." She whispered, "I think she ran away with everyone else."

Simon's eyes flicked back to the obituary list, people who had been found dead in the forest from supposed zombie attacks. 

"I know sweetie, I know." Simon said. She sniffled into his coat, and he rubbed circles into her back. He looked at the picture of the smiling woman with a green shirt, the one who resembled Marceline's description the most, and wondered what the hell had happened.

"I know."

* * *

He woke up in the middle of the night. He didn't know what had woken him this time- but he did know that now that he was awake there was a deep sense of foreboding. Marceline was already in bed with him, and she stirred as he sat up. 

"What izzit, Simon," She asked, looking around blearily.

"Shh," Simon said, not unkindly, and then the girl was wide awake. She felt it too.

Simon looked around the darkened room. He had left the lamp on the bedside table on for Marceline, and it was now off. The power could have gone out, it had been left on for a long time already, but the street lamp outside the window still shone.

He looked at the window, curtains drawn, bright orange light shining in. The black sky could just be seen above the curtain. 

A shadow passed in front of the window, a silhouette on the curtain. 

It was too tall, even for a shadow, and it lurched with every step. Simon could just see the outline of a set of shoulders. It crossed their field of vision slowly, taking its sweet time to vanish from sight, and about halfway through its journey, it stopped.

Simon slowly curled his arms around Marceline's middle as the set of shoulders turned, and then lowered, and then an outline of a head could be seen as the thing crouched outside. It raised a hand, a claw, a finger to the window, and pressed its face against the window. Through the translucent curtain, Simon could just barely see terrible eyes staring directly at them through the glass. 

Its claw smashed through the window and Simon had Marceline in a death grip and was running through the hall in the blink of an eye.

Simon didn't look back, but he could hear the thing giving chase, some unholy screech unleashing from its throat. 

He dug his bare heel into the carpet and swung around a corner just in time to see another creature clawing in through the _ roof of all things _ , and it was long and crooked and made of bones and tar and it had two bright, glaring white eyes, and it snapped its rows of exposed rotting teeth at Simon's neck and Marceline  _ screamed  _ and Simon moved before he could think. 

He ducked away and ran through the hall on the right and ran towards the garage where there was still a massive gaping hole where the tree still sat, and he rushed through it and onto the tree and then slid down it onto the ground where he picked a direction and went  _ 'screw it all-just go'. _

The forest was right behind the house, and he was going deeper into it, and it reminded him of when he had escaped the pit and he was running and there was  _ something  _ following him. And he knew they were being followed, screeches and breaking branches made sure of that, and it felt so much worse now that there was a child depending on him.

One of the monsters, maybe the ones from before or a new one, fell from the canopy and landed in front of him and  _ roared _ , and Simon turned to run, but as he did he found that there were two more standing behind him.

Marceline was clutching his clothes like a lifeline and Simon could only look around frantically as the things- the zombies, he noted- started to prowl around them like prey. 

Simon held the girl tight to his chest and whispered,  _ "I'm sorry," _ and she looked at him with big eyes but there were no tears there, just some sort of horrified surprise Simon knew all too well.

One of the monsters lunged and Simon threw himself on top of Marceline in some last ditch effort to protect the girl, and he wrapped his chained hands above his neck because that was what you were  _ supposed  _ to do- you protected your face and neck during an emergency, and his chains swung upwards and hit the monster,  _ and- _

-And it recoiled like it was hit with lightning. 

Bright blue flames engulfed its hand where the chain hit, and the hand melted and then the arm melted and the monster was making a sound like a dying train engine, and the flames lit up the entire forest and the other creatures (Simon could see their faces clearly in the new light, they were human, or at least they used to be, too distorted and stretched and gaping with bright hollow eyes to be human any longer) covered their eyes from the light and scurried away into the darkness.

The monster still on fire melted away completely, into a puddle of black sludge and bones. Ribs poke out of the sludge like spikes in a pit. Bubbles of blue and white light occasionally erupted from the puddle, popping and fading. 

Simon was breathing heavily, Marceline clutching him with a strength unheard of from a little girl. She was shaking. So was Simon. 

Simon looked at the chain- the one on his left wrist- and the lowest link of it had snapped, turned black, and fallen off, laying abandoned in the grass.

For some reason, Simon knew that wasn't a good thing.


	2. Forgotten Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S FINALLY HERE BABBYS

His mind was dark with thick black fog. It swirled in and around him, picking him apart and taking him away like sand. He was a handful of dust being spread thin by an unstoppable wind, slow and gentle in its caress, but unyielding all the same.

For a while he drifted. He couldn't tell how long. He was unthinking, unfeeling. He saw nothing and perhaps to the rest of the world, was nothing. But nothing never lasts, and the fog slowly drifted apart like curtains to a play, and Simon found himself in bed.

He sat up, not remembering falling asleep. Sunlight streamed through a crack in the black curtains, a single ray of light the only thing illuminating the room. The window was directly across from his bed, and the light shone in just a way to shine directly in his eyes. There were blankets strewn about him, like he had simply flopped into bed the day prior and was too tired to tuck himself in. Betty always hated when he stayed up late.

He turned, and to his right sat a small table with a cup of water and a digital alarm clock. It's bright numbers read 3:11 PM. A picture of him and Betty sat next to the clock, smiling at the yellow owl that was perched between them. He looked to his left to find the other half of the bed distressingly empty.

"Betty?" Simon called out, not daring to get out of bed. He was oddly frightened, for some reason. Some dream he couldn't remember was haunting him, he supposed. It wasn't the first time that had happened, but this time he couldn't seem to ease his racing heart.

Nobody responded. He blinked harshly, the sudden fogginess in his eyes making it hard to see.

" _ Betty?! _ " He called a little louder, a little frantic. He couldn't get out of bed. The room was too dark, he thought, too dark and too full of unseen and unknown dangers. 

He shook his head the moment he had that thought. He needed to think reasonably. He wasn't a child, the darkness had nothing to hide in his own home. The only thing hiding in the dark was himself, and if he wanted light, he had to get up.

That was easier said than done.

Simon peered over the edge of his bed, and found that the floor seemed much farther away than he remembered. Maybe it was the darkness or maybe it was his frightened mind, but the floor seemed to be miles away and only getting farther. He scooted away from the edge, suddenly certain he would fall to his doom.

The curtains rustled. His gaze snapped to the window. The rustling continued, the curtains moving ever so slightly. 

Had the window been left open again...? Had it been just the wind? Surely, surely it had been the wind. He gave a sigh of relief. It was just the wind. He kept telling Betty that they needed a better latch on the darn thing, but they never seemed to get around to it.

The rustling continued, however, and gradually grew louder. His eyes were locked onto the window. 

Surely, it was just the wind.

Something scraped across glass, like a nail on a chalkboard, and something clicked.

His breathing began to deepen as unbridled panic sept into his lungs and drowned him from within.

It wasn't the wind- it wasn't the wind it was  _ something else- _

Long, spindling fingers appeared behind the dark fabric. Simon was suddenly pressing himself against the wall behind him, trying to get away from the fingers that began to take shape through the black curtain.

The fingers stretched and stretched until a hand was formed from the cloth, and then an arm. It looked as though an arm was being passed through a waterfall of fabric, slowly but surely becoming it's skin. But in the dim light the arm almost looked like tar. 

The arm reached for him, slowly, too slowly, knowing where he was in the room despite having no eyes, terrible bone-like fingers ready to touch touch touch. He flattened himself against the wall, trying desperately to distance himself from the hand, clamping his eyes shut. 

He almost opened them when he felt something cold  _ (ice ice ice) _ drag down his cheek. His breathing hitched, and fiery panic bloomed in his stomach. No rational thoughts entered his mind save for one:

Where was Betty?

And so he screamed.

_ "BETTY!"  _

Footsteps were heard thundering down the hall and in an instant the door was thrown open and the lights were flicked on. 

The arm disappeared like it was never there. He stared, chest heaving, at the closed curtains. The closed, lime green curtains that glowed in the dark because Betty thought it was hilarious. They had a little dinosaur pattern embroidered on the hem. They did not move.

Simon slid down the wall back to the bed, his bare back making an odd squeaking sound. He looked up and found his previously immaculate white walls to be smeared with sweat. He felt his armpits and, lo and behold, he was sweating like he had run a marathon. 

"Simon, what the hell happened?!" Betty asked from the doorway, holding a baseball bat. She had a concerned look on her face. Simon shook his head slowly, never taking his eyes away from the window. She dropped her makeshift weapon and crossed the room to her husband.

"Simon? Simon, can you hear me?" She asked softly, gently putting her hands on his shoulders. He nodded slowly, shaking. When had it gotten so cold in the room?

"Hey, hey." She said, grabbing Simon firmly and turning him to look at her. He let himself be moved, and found himself looking at his wife.

"You're okay, you're okay. I'm here, got it? Nothing's gonna get you when I'm near, ya hear?" She said, looking him straight in the eye. "Nothing, ever."

He nodded, faster this time, and took her into his arms and held her tight to his chest. She hugged him back, now kneeling on the bed, and he buried his face into her hair. She smelled like she had just gone for a jog. He snorted through his tears. Of course she had just gone for a jog. If she wasn't reading, she was running, a pastime Simon had learned to despise over the years. 

"Feeling better?" She asked softly. He took a deep breath, and let it out slow.

"Yeah." He said. She shoved him away and looked at him hard.

"What was that?!" She asked, "I thought you were being murdered!" 

"Is that why you brought the bat?" Simon asked, a small smile on his face.

"No, that's why I brought the bat with nails." She pointed to the lone bat on the floor, that had several long nails driven through the head. 

"Why do you have that?" Simon asked, eyebrow quirking.

"In case you're getting murdered, duh." She said, like it was obvious. "I call it the 'Skull Cruncher'." 

She was grinning at him with that smile of hers, and any anxiety he had before faded away. It had just been his tired mind playing tricks on him. It was dark and he hadn't had his glasses, that was all. He rested his chin on her shoulders and smiled. Just the wind. 

"Never change, love." He said.

"You still didn't answer my question." She stated.

"Just a nightmare." He explained.

"A nightmare where you were trying to become a wall fixture?" Betty gave him a stern look.

"Yes." He said back, as serious as he could, "One never knows the terrors of interior home design until you become the interior home design." He gave an exaggerated shudder. "Mint green with orange, Betty! The horror." 

She huffed. "You're lucky I love you." She said.

"Yup, I sure am." Simon said. 

"Also, you stink. Your BO is retched, my dear." Betty said.

"Ah, so I smell like you?" Simon said, a wry grin on his face. Betty pulled away from him and gave him a flat look.

"You're really lucky I love you." She said.

"Not my fault you run so much." Simon said, shrugging.

She dropped him and let him fall to the bed with a thump.

"Go take a shower you goob." She said, getting up. Panic flared in Simon's chest and he was up and off the bed faster than he could think. He found himself clutching her hand with a vice-like grip. No matter how much he willed himself to, he couldn't make himself let go.

Betty was surprised, not expecting that kind of panicked speed from her husband. Nor the very real terror that he was attempting to hide.

"Simon, what happened?" She asked. She wasn't asking nicely this time. She had her serious face on. The face that meant she was about to track someone down and remove their head from their shoulders. He swallowed. He couldn't lie to her. But the truth wasn't true, was it? He shook his head slowly. He swore he heard the curtain rustle.

"Just a dream," Simon said.

"A dream has never gotten you so worked up before." She said, "What happened?" 

Simon, frozen in his skin, found his throat suddenly dry. Something was missing.

"I-" He clacked his teeth together, he was forgetting something, "Is the window open?" 

Betty gave him a confused look.

"No...? We fixed the latch, remember? It should be fine." She said. Is that what he was forgetting? No. There was something else, clawing at the back of his mind. It was important. It was so, so important. It was suddenly more important than anything else.

"Check it." Simon said, his voice a hoarse whisper. 

She nodded slowly. Betty grabbed his hands in hers and gently eased him off the bed, as if he was a newborn deer and would fall at any moment. She brought him over to the window, and when she touched the curtain he suddenly let go. Betty, looking even more confused, threw open the curtain. The midday sun streamed in, and Simon clearly saw the latch was locked. Nothing could get in. Nothing got in. Not even the wind.

_ Something got out. _

"See? Locked window." She said.

"I'm forgetting something." He said. He took a few steps backward. He ran his fingers through his hair, the long tangled strands feeling like static in his palm. Fuzz seemed to bleed into his vision. A loud ringing was slowly becoming the only thing he could hear.

"You? Forget something? Simon, I don't think you've ever forgotten anything in your life." Betty said, but her voice sounded far away. 

"I-" He said, he stared at the floor. It was his dream. He had woken in bed, and then a hand seemingly came out of nowhere. But that- that wasn't a dream. He had woken up terrified in the first place. He had a nightmare beforehand. He must have. What was it? He never forgot his dreams.

"I can't remember." He said quietly. What had his dream been? What had it been about? 

He didn't remember waking up. He didn't remember opening his eyes. They hadn't been closed in the first place. Why had he been so scared? Betty was talking to him, he knew, but her words were miles away under water.

He looked back to the bed, and through the haze he saw his clock. It was still 3:11. 

He didn't wake up. There was no nightmare.

This  _ was  _ the nightmare, he realized. He wasn't awake. He was  _ still asleep. _

Simon turned sharply, as reality came crashing home, getting one last look of his wife's featureless face before it all fell apart.

* * *

Simon's back ached. He groaned as he sat up, finding himself oddly wet. A flash of fear went through him for half a second before it abruptly vanished. No, he was not back in the pit. He was in the forest. Covered in tree sap, apparently. Yuck.

The forest just outside the town's borders, where He and Marceline had camped out for the night. She was snuggled into his chest, and was now waking as Simon was moving. She blinked at him in the fresh light, and gave him a smile. Simon smiled back, weakly. 

"Good morning, Simon." She said.

"Hey, Marcy." He said back. 

"I'm tired." She said into his shirt.

"Me too." Simon said.

"Can we go back to sleep?" She asked.

"No, Marcy. Not yet." He said, and scooped her up. She let her head rest on his shoulder and had her arms around his neck. 

He stood from their little nook in the tree where they had slept for the night. After the whole ordeal with the monsters, Simon had been left stunned and full of adrenaline. He had paced, Marceline in arm, paranoid of any sound the forest made.

The only thing that illuminated the clearing were his chains, as there was no moon that night. He didn't want to go deeper into the woods, as it was too dark and there was a high chance of getting lost. They were definitely not going back to the town, that place could burn to the ground for all he cared. But soon the adrenaline wore off, leaving only fatigue and exhaustion in its place. Marceline had sat, shaking in his arms, trying to be quiet about her tears. He remembers rubbing circles into her back, over and over again, but never actually saying anything for fear of being heard. 

So, with the only options being die or die later, he crammed the both of them into a hollow tree and waited for the sun to rise. He must have fallen asleep at one point, and so had she. The sun had already been bleeding into the sky when he laid down, and he didn't feel very rested. He must have only been out for an hour or so.

The feeling of dread and of being watched had subsided into a gentle calmness in the dewy morning. Simon knew from the center of his soul that they were alone. He breathed in the fresh morning air, and sighed.

They needed to find help. Desperately. They couldn't be the only ones left, after all. Humanity was stubborn like that, not knowing when to die and refusing to be knocked down for long. He glanced down to the little girl in his arms. And not-quite-humans were pretty stubborn too.

He turned back to where he knew the town lay beyond the trees. He still had many things there, clippings and research papers. Food, blankets, bags for supplies. He didn't know how far the next town was, how long it would take to get there. Hambo had been left behind in the rush.

He entertained the thought of leaving Marceline in the forest while he went and collected their things. But he couldn't do that, he knew that the forest was safe right then, but what about when he left? He'd leave her a sitting duck, completely defenseless. The thought of him returning to find her mangled corpse was vivid and terrifying. He swallowed it down. 

"We've got to go back, Marcy." Simon said to her. She looked up at him, eyes wide. He could see the fear there, see the question in her gaze.

"We'll be quick. I'll protect you." He said, giving her a squeeze. She hugged back, burying her face into his shirt. He rubbed her back in small circles.

"I promise." 

* * *

The town was as deserted as it had been the day before. There were almost no signs of the monsters that had found them, save for the fact that every street light seemed to be broken.

Simon moved quickly, quietly, Marceline clutching his front. He found the house they were staying at before and stared. The windows were all smashed. There were claw marks on the frames.

He moved slowly. He approached the broken window and kept Marceline low. He peered inside. The room was trashed. Blankets and bed fluff were everywhere, the lamps and wall painting were thrown to the floor and shards of glass and ceramic were everywhere. But no monsters.

"Is it safe?" Marceline whispered.

"I don't know," Simon said, "Be quiet, keep your eyes open. If you see something, anything, tell me."

The door was unlocked. That was because Simon didn't really see any sense in locking it in the first place. Who would rob them? Who even knew they were there? He held Marcy tight to his chest and crept in the shadows.

He wouldn't be caught off guard again, not this time.

Marceline kept looking around, quietly, quickly, like they were going somewhere they weren't allowed. Maybe they were.

His papers were where he left them. It seemed the monsters hadn't bothered with anything that didn't involve the two of them. He gathered the most important of them up into a pile and then rolled the stack into a tube.

"Carry this," He told Marceline. She held it without remark. 

He picked up two bags, a small one for Marcy and a much larger one for himself. He began to pack. The food in the cupboards, the loose pens and stray crayons. Blankets, thick ones, blank notebooks and as much soap that could fit. Books.

He found a rubber band and held out his hand to Marceline. She set the roll of papers into his palm and he quickly tied the tube with the band and packed that away too. 

The last thing he grabbed was Hambo, which he gave to Marceline. She held onto it with an intensity he hoped he could mimic with her.

They left the house as they entered; quickly and quietly. 

* * *

"Where are we going?" 

"Don't know yet," Simon said. 

Marceline walked besides him, her hand in his, and clouds rolled over the sky.

For all his research, Simon could not find a complete map of the town. He couldn’t find any map of the town. He had no idea what the town was even called, he had no idea if he was miles away from home or if he was in another country. 

"Do you know what country we're in?" Simon asked.

"What's a country?"

"Never mind." 

He probably wasn't in another country. Hopefully.

* * *

They were leaving town. He grabbed a few things before they left, things that weren't included in their original search of the house. Bolt cutters, knife, a couple of lighters. A swiss army knife. He grabbed a pair of boots from a store and was gratified to learn that he could wear them without causing pain to his leg.

"Simon?" Marcy called, tugging on his pant leg.

"Yes?"

"I'm hungry." She said. 

And that made sense; they had not had breakfast or had eaten at all since they had woken up.

He hummed. He gave a quick look around the room, more impulse than an actual search of the area, and then shrugged.

"Let's eat here." 

They sat between the aisles of shoes and he opened a bag of chips alongside a can of pineapple. He handed the girl the food and she promptly handed it back to him, and they ate.

Eating was... weird, now. No matter what he tried, no matter how hungry he was, he could not eat anything if Marcy did not hand it to him first. It was odd, and she was the one to catch on first and work out a system. She did so silently, with a scrunched brow on her tiny face, but she did not question it.

She only understood that when he was hungry he could not eat until she gave him the food. 

She smiled up at him through a mouthful of fruit, juice dribbling down her chin. 

She was a very bright girl.

* * *

They left the town. They walked along the highway until the city dissolved into grassy plains and abandoned farmland. They spoke to each other, about cloud shapes or Atlantis or animals. 

Marceline slowly brightened as the day went on, the horror from the night before becoming a mere memory. 

Simon was not so easily reassured. He kept looking over his shoulder, kept looking at the setting sun.

When night began to fall, and Marceline's endless supply of energy began to wane, He brought them to the edge of the road and set up camp. They ate silently, and it dawned on Simon that the future ahead of them was unknown and dangerous.

He didn't know if leaving the town was the right call. He didn't know if staying there would have been better. Should he have searched harder for a mode of transport? Tried to hotwire a car? Send out smoke signals?

He wasn't sure. 

But the town, no matter how resource rich and protected from the elements it was, was giving him... feelings. Deep in his gut, something churning and frantic. Something he wasn't familiar with but instinctively trusted. 

That town wasn't safe.

And, underneath the star filled sky, the milky way a bright force above their heads, he felt calm. His gut gave no frantic warnings, and he could breathe freely.

He thought about staying up through the night to keep watch, but he would need his energy the next day. 

He bundled up Marceline in her sleeping bag and held her close, and then fell asleep.

* * *

They woke up early the next day, birds chirping and dew on the grass besides them.

"Good morning, Simon." Marceline said.

"Good morning," Simon replied, smiling softly.

They sat there for a minute. Until Marcy got antsy and Simon hefted himself up out of his sleeping cocoon.

"What's for breakfast today..." Simon said to himself as he dug through his bag.

"Cookies." Marceline said, hovering over him.

He tapped his chin thoughtfully.

"I don't see why not." 

Marceline did a little happy wiggle and Simon grinned.

* * *

Two days passed. They were mostly the same as the first- walking, eating, and talking. Sometimes Marceline would pick up rocks and throw them as hard as she could down the road. Sometimes they would gather grass and make bracelets and crowns.

And always, before Marceline went to sleep, Simon would pull out a book and read to her. He'd point to the line and read slow, encouraging her to repeat the sentence after him.

And when she fell asleep he'd rub his wrists raw trying to itch the mottled skin underneath.

On the third day, they found a farmhouse.

Simon decided it would be okay to camp out there for the night.

When they entered, it was dusty. The town hadn't been abandoned for too long, but whoever lived here had left a while ago.

The fridge was empty, as were the cupboards. Anything of use or value was picked clean. The computer, an old dinosaur of a thing, had been completely  _ gutted _ . Wires seemed to have been ripped from the walls. What seemed to be the remains of several radios were in a pile in the corner of the living room.

There were no beds, but there was a fireplace and a couch. Simon shoved the couch up close to the fireplace and snuggled up together, the warm embers lulling Marceline to sleep.

Simon watched the dying fire, thinking about nothing in particular.

So many questions. So many questions. Too many questions, perhaps.

Carefully, as to not wake the sleeping six year old, Simon got up. The sun was still setting, the sky a golden pink. Clouds, wispy and numerous, lazily flew through the air.

He went outside and breathed in the fresh air. Not a lot of that, back in the city he used to live in. He wondered if anybody still lived there or if it had been evacuated as well.

He touched the ring on his finger briefly, and then sighed. He leaned against the wall of the house and watched the sun set. 

No matter what happened, whether he got the answers he was searching for or not, they'd be okay. He'd make sure of it. 

He turned to go back inside but paused at the front door.

There was something he missed when they had first inspected the building.

Tiny letters were written- were  _ carved-  _ into the grain of the door frame. He leaned in close and squinted to read them.

_ "Don't let them touch you" _

The words, for some reason, gave him chills. He rubbed his arms and hurried inside, shutting the door behind him. 

The sun set, and nothing lurked outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bro I like my dream sequences what can I say  
> Anywhoo  
> PLOT IS TAKING FORM. IT IS THICKENING.   
> writing is like making soup, I think, and sometimes you gotta add flour and milk and other junk to thiccen it up. And sometimes you gotta wait before you add it so it doesn't turn out funky.  
> My point being: What used to be a loose series of random shit I wanted to happen has now taken sexy shape in my notes. I can't guarantee regular updates, or even a timeframe of when the next chapter might appear, but the story is there I just got to write it eventually. I hope you enjoyed :)

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback welcome!! I'm new to writing horror or anything horror-esque, and I'm trying to not focus too much on it in this fic, so tell me how I did and advice is welcome :)  
> This will absolutely update according to my mood and any other factors in my life RN. Don't know ho long it will be, but it does have an outlined plot and general story flow, but that is subject to change by my decision or yours.


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